


Of Summers Once Lived

by Leni_licious



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Corsets are not meant to be torture devices, Drunken Kissing, Elven Parties, Elves, F/M, Fainting, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), He does so anyway, Implied Sexual Content, Light Elves, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki finding some light, Loki should not be drinking this much at parties, Loki will not take constructive criticism on his clothing choices, Oneshot, Oneshot Prompts Challenge, Pre-Thor (2011), Summer, but like, none of it is described, young loki, Álfheimr | Alfheim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni_licious/pseuds/Leni_licious
Summary: There were many summer balls in the Nine, held in most Realms, and the overwhelming majority of said summer balls took their place in the ethereal evenings and nights that graced Alfheim with their presence.A rare pleasure that one Prince Loki of Asgard found himself partaking in - and if it wasn't exactly what his parents had had in mind when they allowed him to travel, then at least it was worth it.
Relationships: Loki & the Realm of the Light Elves
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: /r/FanFiction Prompt Challenge #20 / August 2020





	Of Summers Once Lived

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this as a response to a Reddit r/FanFiction August challenge prompt list, one of which was 'Summer/Winter' and which my brain latched onto and ran with. Having finished and being rather happy with the end result, I decided to post this here, on A03.
> 
> If Asgard isn't Loki's favourite place, at least he has Nine whole Realms to explore.
> 
> Without further ado: Welcome, Reader.

If there was any social event Loki lived for, it was the summer balls on Alfheim. There were many summer balls in the Nine, held in most Realms, and the overwhelming majority of said summer balls took their place in the ethereal evenings and nights that graced Alfheim with their presence. Of course, every ball was different, no matter that a scarce fourteen hours had passed since the last and there was one in particular among their number that Loki loved and made a point never to miss in its yearly coming.

Fashion had always been a fleeting thing, and it changed nightly. When one evening you were required to show up in cleverly tailored cloth that barely covered the skin, the next you had to dress in armour – if not the full heavy ensemble of ceremonial armour or the complete battle-dress worn during times of war – and the one following that in turn had you showing up in decoratively formal clothing, or perhaps not so formal, as the night went on and pieces were discarded in the darkening sweltering heat.

It was a time of selfishness and greed, of power changing hands minute by minute as one sought to outshine the other twirling stars, a whirl of colour wherever you stepped and spun in the hands of one partner or another. Sweet wines sat in delicate curving glasses on side tables, fruit and salted meats were aplenty. And so were beautiful people.

If one thing was missing, it was parental control. These feasts and balls were rightfully viewed as scandalous and after a certain age, or rise to power, many were forced by dignity to fall out of the carnival-like lifestyle of summertime Alfheim. As second prince, no such rules applied to him.

Loki, as soon as he was given permission to spend weeks at a time on the planet – for purely educational purposes, as befit a prince – was ensnared. The absence of not only the King and Queen, but that of Thor and his friends, for they seldom attended, finding the near eternal mood of cheer and brightness tiring after the first few nights of little to no sleep, and the absence of mead being despicable to their tastes, allowed for a new sort of freedom – one which he would have sold his soul for in a heartbeat during those early times of laughter and music.

His favoured ball was perhaps the most traditional of the lot – Asgard always seemed to win out in the end. It wasn’t necessarily the traditional aspect that appealed to Loki.

Usually, corsets made for ample back and breast support, and were as comfortable as clothing could be – sunning yourself in a secluded location was something else entirely – that was, if they were fitted properly. Then, there were the other corsets. The ones you laced tighter and tighter, until you could barely breathe and laughter left you dizzy and gasping. Loki liked those.

Employing the use of her cousin – for there was always a bastard one running about, courtesy of Odin’s twin brothers, now sadly deceased – Loki would have enjoyed having more than half-blurred memories of the pair, if for nothing else then for the rumours and not having to bear being the only royal around sure to never ascend the Throne – Loki had the laces tightened until her ribs were on the verge of cracking, and her already slim waist was wonderfully tiny as to allow one to nearly have their hands meet when having placed them on either side.

What followed was gowns of deep green, or crimson – for Loki looked stunning in both – or gold, or yellow or dark navy or white or black, and expensive, elegant necklaces, all framed in shining metals, for one could never afford to be dull, and decorated with inlaid stones of precious substance. Loki crowned herself with delicate circlets endowed by glittering gemstones, hair loose and silky about her shoulders. She would have had it longer, but truth was, it got in the way of certain activities.

Head held high and chest puffed out, Loki danced and sang and spun, holding hands with one heartwrecking partner before the next, a fevered blush spreading out over her cheeks and feet growing clumsy with every added glass of potent wine. The stars twinkled up above, her eyes caught the light from the lighted fires and witchlights all around, and the melodies that caught her in their sway went higher and faster all at once, and it was almost as if her soul was lifted out of her body, feeling none of the dangerous exhaustion that built as the hours went on and dusk turned to night turned to dawn.

She was the star at the heart of the constellation, the one around whom everybody gathered, the being whose eyes drew everybody in, no matter the species, race or Realm, and as she moved, she knew it. She knew it with every wisp of her soul, every tendon of her being. She knew the Elves, near immortal as they were, were like planets to a sun when faced with such life as she had to give them, bright and new and strong. The warriors wanted to have her, a gentle, fragrant, slight little thing to complement their strength, the users of magic wanted to feel the power stirring within her veins, to have the raw power coursing over their own skin as she lost control and let it radiate in waves rolling out alight with a bright green glow.

The heat was almost unbearable, dragging her down, but she ignored the perspiration that beaded on her flushed skin and that ran down her back, ignored it and danced on, feasted upon the delights offered freely until she felt like she would burst should one more morsel of warm sticky honey – warm, so warm, why couldn’t _this_ at least be cool – or salted venison touch her tongue, and then she exchanged these fruits of Alfheim for others; the living, breathing, talking and touching her kind.

Adrenaline sent her heart pounding as the music swelled from darkness to light, thunder to light rain, sunlight to the cool rays sent down by the moons, from sunsets to sunrises, from ice to fire and ivy to roses and everything in between. Her heart beat against her ribcage, her lungs laboured under the stress, her muscles trembled with exhaustion, but as long as the songs continued so could she, and continue with such vigour she did, until she could taste copper, but she wasn’t bleeding yet and wouldn’t stop even if she did.

When it was ultimately too much, Loki drunk and giggling, swaying on her feet, it caught up to her. Whatever forces had been keeping her conscious fled, and as breath finally refused to come, mouth opening and closing uselessly as oxygen ran out and her lungs refused to unseal, her head was sent spinning and the world became a smearing blur. With a gasp well-practised for this was always the intended end, she crumpled soundlessly to the ground, a blooming flower wilting all at once.

When her eyelashes fluttered and opened once again, it was always on a pile of cushions, her last beau of this ball lounging nearby, having helpfully loosened her corset laces and allowed her to breathe. What followed, never would have been done in public if either of them had their faculties around them. But it was Alfheim, the land of the Light Elves, the land of feasting and pleasure and everlasting sweetness, and nobody, not even the most determined, could withstand it for long.

Kisses did what the corset had been stopped from. Stealing her breath, sapping more of her and later, when she’d grown up past the middling adolescence she’d been when she’d started, leading to a night to which she imagined none but she were privy to.

In reality, as morning came and passed and Loki awoke halfway through the afternoon, she knew immediately that last night had been a disgrace, to both herself and Asgard. She was no more shocked to find herself undressed than she was to find herself alone and removed to her room. It had been unpleasant the first few times, but she’d gotten used to it. And year after year, as she grew older and the worlds continued to spin and the scenery around her stayed the same, it ceased to matter entirely. She always did it again the next time.

After all, as ethereal as Alfheim seemed, everything that happened here was transient as a dream. What she had here, she could never have elsewhere. There was no place else where she could shine as the star she was meant to be, nowhere else where others would gather around her and only her. But still, the question circled in her mind, a raven that would never leave until it got its answer:

_Or was there?_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading to the end, I hope I've provided ample entertainment for as long as it took to read these words of mine. This is probably the shortest I've ever gotten a work to be, and if I ever came close to having so few words in a completed piece of writing again I'd be rather shocked. That being said, this is also the longest amount of words I've written without a single line of dialogue, so hopefully that wasn't a turn-off :)
> 
> So long, Reader.


End file.
